Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(101)

Oliver kisses me back just as hard, gliding his hand over my body, the simplest yet satisfying touches that make me sigh. Panting, the ache inside me at a fever pitch, I roll on the condom, warm him up more with lube and my fingers. I press soft kisses along his shoulder as I lube up the condom, too, and stare down at his gorgeous body—golden skin, long, strong muscles, that sweet, tight ass.

“Please,” he whispers. “I need it.”

“I know you do, love.” Gently, I ease in, groaning as I breach that tight place and feel him, so incredibly snug around me. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Oliver moans in pleasure as I rock my hips and fill him, slow and steady.

“So good,” he mutters, reaching back, kissing me.

“And it’s about to get better.” As I turn on the cock ring, a gasp tears out of him.

“Shit,” I hiss, easing back, then pumping into him, my hand teasing his cock, holding it tight at the base like the cock ring holds mine.

Oliver writhes, arches his back. “More. Please.”

“Easy,” I whisper. “Don’t chase it. Just let it come. Let me give it to you.”

He groans and reaches back, clutches my neck, kisses me, hot and slick, his tongue gliding with mine. “It feels so good.”

I nod, breathless, the sensation building in my body so powerful, I can barely form words.

As we move, the fire warms us, hands wandering, breaths ragged, pleas and praises filling the air. Time fades to the nighttime darkness, the glow of the fire, the sounds of our bodies together.

Moving so little, it’s gentle on my back, that heat from the fire soothing the insistent ache. I draw Oliver tighter against me, kiss his throat as he throws his head back and I breathe him in, his sweat, the scent of his skin. I pump his cock, then lower, cupping his balls as they’re teased by the vibration, down his thighs, up his stomach. He reaches back and rubs my ass, my hip, holding me against him as I stroke into that spot that makes him shout my name, makes him start to shake and gulp air.

“That’s it,” I growl, feeling his body tense, his release build. Sliding my hand up his chest, I hold his throat softly, guiding his head back. “Look at me. Look at me when you come.”

Oliver stares into my eyes, as I lose myself in his eyes, too. I feel the strength of his body, the strength of mine, power and need and heat, as I pump into him, as he holds me tight.

Clasping his jaw, I take his mouth, hold his eyes as he comes and calls my name against my mouth. He clings to my body as another wave of his orgasm hits him, so intense, it wrenches my release from me, makes me shout his name, too. My hips jerk as I grip his cock and pump him hard, earning hot, thick ropes that paint his stomach and my hand as he gasps my name.

Dazed, limbs heavy, I paw at the button for the vibrating cock ring, ending its overwhelming sensation.

“Holy shit,” I groan. Oliver laughs faintly, making a hoarse laugh rumble out of me, too.

“You,” he pants, “were right. I feel very foolish for pouting. Then again, if that’s what pouting gets me every time, I may need to starfish on the floor and sulk more often.”

I smile against his kiss, soak up his slow, contented sigh. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? I loved it.” Reaching up, he slips his fingers through my hair and kisses me again. “Got anything else fun in that little dove-gray bag that you want to share, Hayes?”

“Oh, Bergman,” I whisper, grinning wickedly, “just you wait.”





31





GAVIN





Playlist: “You’re the One I Want,” Chris and Thomas





I have an unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean at dusk, but my gaze is fastened on a far better sight.

Oliver stands in line beside his brothers, sun-tanned and striking in a black tux, laughing as he palms away a tear. In my peripheral vision, I see Ren cup Frankie’s face as they kiss to an eruption of applause. But my eyes don’t leave Oliver. They hardly ever manage to.

As the bride and groom walk out to more applause, I stare at Oliver and feel peace crest like a wave in my soul.

There are plenty of big names here, but there are no frantic camera flashes, no probing questions or enthusiastic fans. By some feat of money or connections or some combination of both, the beach is protected this evening, away from prying eyes and press. Here, we’re simply family and friends, celebrating two people promising each other forever.

I’m starting to get used to that. Being simply Gavin. Little by little, I’m learning to embrace the relief that comes with not waking up having to prove my worth to myself or to the world, the serenity of accepting myself as I am, believing that’s enough.

I have someone reminding me of that every day, too, which certainly helps—the man who comes bounding toward me and slips his hand around my waist. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

“Piss off,” I tell him.

“I didn’t cry!” Oliver yells. “You bet I would. I bet I wouldn’t. Fifty bucks. Now hand it over.”

I kiss him even though he’s full of shit and earn his satisfied smile as he pulls away. “I watched you, you mendacious pain in my ass. You cried.”

“I swiped away a bit of moisture at the corner of my eyes when the wind picked up,” he says loftily, hand out. “Let’s go. Cough it up.”